At that time not a soul of that band dreamed that not twenty rods ahead a fair young girl, suddenly roused from sleep, was listening white-faced and with throbless heart to the noise of their coming.
“In the name of mercy what wolves have tracked us down?” fell from her lips. “It is merciless fate that sent Harry off and left me to face them alone. But, ah! he is safe. Heaven, I thank thee for that. Ay, I am glad that I am alone.”
Myra, the waif, shrunk instinctively to the northern wall where the marks of the boy lyncher’s vengeance were.
As the girl stood there, and listened to the sounds made by the new arrivals, she did not allow her hands to tremble at the weapon which they encircled.
“Ar’n’t we thar yet? This bullet in my trunk hes got to movin’ about.”
Myra, the waif, started.
That voice had a familiar sound. Six hours had not passed since she heard it behind the stock of a leveled carbine.
But what had happened? A bullet in Tom Terror’s body? Then the Tiger had enemies besides the young judge.
“We must be in the cave,” said another voice that seemed to come from a white man’s lips. “But there are too many shadows here.”
“A light, boys. Make a fire, an’ while ye’re at work put me down.”